Burning Blue
by Team Frank
Summary: A BriseisAchilles 'what if' story. Instead of days, Briseis spent a whole year in the Greek camp, and gave birth to a son during it. What happens when she returns to Troy? I am BAD at summaries!
1. Before And After

**Hey, I'm only going to bore you with one AN for this whole story, but I just wanted to introduce you to it, basically. This is my first Troy fanfic, although I've done three One Tree Hill ones already, so if you don't like it, sorry. It was originally written just for me but I figured, might as well post it. If you like, review, if you don't, you don't have to read it, simple as that.**

**Basically there are going to be alternate points of view: Briseis, then Achilles, the back to Briseis – so on and so forth. I've used lines from the film - sorry if it's a breach of copyright but it's only because I love it so much. There are also flashbacks galore, not in italics, so sorry if it's a little confusing. Hope you enjoy!**

**- Team Frank**

Chapter One – Before & After

I can separate everything that happened in those few short months into 'before' and 'after'. Before, when I amused myself and Theo during the day, and shared Achilles' bed at night. And after, when I lived in the condemning stares of my people, and had to deal with the consequences of my lover's actions. I was happy before, or content, at least. But then the camp was attacked in the dead of night by my cousin and his troops, and 'before' became 'after'.

I was woken by crying in the corner of the tent, and it took me a moment or two to realise that Achilles was not next to me. He should have been; he had fallen asleep with his arm draped across me. But now he had gone; he wasn't in the tent at all, as far as I could see, so I made my way through the darkness to Theo, whose wailing ceased as soon as I gave him a nipple to suckle on. Over the new silence, I could hear screams, cries, the sounds of battle. But no swords. _Odd,_ I thought, _there are always at least a few swords._

At that moment Achilles reappeared at the door, sighing and smiling. "I heard his cries halfway down the beach," he said, coming to stand beside me and stroking our baby's hair.

"What's going on out there?" I asked, turning my head to face him, my eyes flitting over his body. Even after all this time, he still had the power to make my stomach screw up in knots and my fingertips tingle.

"Ah, the Trojans are attacking the troops down the beach. Big flaming balls and tricks like that." He walked away from me, towards the table, where he picked up an apple.

"Are Hector and Paris there?"

"You never give up on your cousins, do you Briseis?" he mocked, taking a bite.

"They're still my family, even if they are your enemies." I retorted, turning and bending down to place Theo back in his makeshift cot.

"Hector is," my lover said behind me, "but I did not see Paris. Probably wanted to stay sleeping, the lazy bastard."

I turned, Theo having settled. "Do you enjoy provoking me?" Achilles rolled his eyes, remembering the time I said the same words over a year ago.

"It's just so easy."

He smiled.

* * *

I woke later, much later, when Phoebus Apollo had drawn his chariot right across the sky. The battle had ended, or at least died down now, judging by what I could hear. I didn't want to move – I never felt as safe as when Achilles had his arms around me – so I looked over at Theo, who was still sleeping soundly, took a deep breath in and settled back down.

"Good morning," my companion breathed in my ear, in that voice of his, dusky and irresistible. He kissed me on the neck and rose, smiling at Theo as he passed. Just as he was pulling on his robe, a voice sounded from beyond the door.

"Achilles," it called.

"Ah, Eudorus." My lover sighed and shook his head. "I'll see what he wants and then I'll be back," he stepped out into the sun, his hand running through his hair.

I could hear speaking outside, but the voices were too muffled to make out the words. Pulling on a dress, I opened the partition just in time to Eudorus, in armour, fall to his knees and speak quietly.

"I didn't lead them, my lord. We thought you did." I didn't know what they were talking about, but from the sombre note in Eudorus' voice, I could tell it was not going to be a cause for celebration.

Achilles turned his head, as if looking for someone. "Where's Patroclus?" He called, "Patroclus!", and Eudorus spoke again, even quieter this time.

"We thought he was you, my lord. He wore your armour. Your shield, your greaves, your helmet. He even moved like you."

"Where is he?!" Achilles struck, and Eudorus fell to the ground. I ran forward, unable to say anything or do anything other than stand and watch the scene unfold.

Eudorus turned back to face Achilles, sand covering his face and blood dripping from his mouth. "He's dead, my lord." He paused, hesitating. "Hector cut his throat."

In that second, in that short, short second just like any other, Apollo's sun stopped in the sky and Time no longer moved.

Hector.

I was not naïve, no matter what Agamemnon or his henchmen thought. I knew what this meant. I knew that, within days, Achilles would avenge his cousin's death.

By killing mine. Oh, Gods…

But then Time began again, and Achilles' foot was on Eudorus' neck, and he was choking him, and I ran forward and was grabbing and shouting, unaware of what I was doing. And then he turned on me, and my lover, the father of my child, had his hand round my throat and was choking the life out of me, and then he threw me to the ground, coughing and spluttering.

With no glance back he turned away and headed for the sea, and we were left with nothing. Nothing but the sound of Theo's helpless cries.

* * *

That evening, we watched Patroclus burn on the pyre that had been erected on the beach by the Myrmidons. I held Theo close to my chest, wary of leaving him in the tent but worried he'd be scared of the flames. I watched Achilles place two coins on his cousin's eyes, for the boatman, and I watched him take Patroclus' shell necklace and wind it round his hand. He had a hard look on his face, the same look he had when we first met, but I had rarely seen since. Like he was closed off from the world, his anger and sadness forming a protective shield, harder and thicker than any used in battle.

Seeing that look, I knew we'd never go back to the way things were before.


	2. Instinct And Weakness

Chapter Two – Instinct & Weakness

The next day, I lived by instinct. I woke, put on my armour. I left the tent without waking Briseis or checking on Theo, and mounted my chariot. I rode to Troy, and I shouted for Hector. He came.

I lived by instinct.

I fought, as best as I could, and I killed him, and took him back to the Greek camp.

But there was no release. I thought, by killing Hector, I would find some sort of solace, some sort of comfort, but there was nothing. I felt the same as I had the night before: angry and hollow. The void left by Patroclus had not been filled by Hector's death; I felt as empty as ever. And now I had pushed away the thing most precious to me: Briseis.

She knew what had happened, I could tell without having to say a word. I could tell by the way she cowered and hugged Theo closer when she saw the look on my face as I walked in.

Now she stared around, down, at anywhere but me. Theo was asleep, but she still clutched him tightly to her breast. I knew I should apologise, or try to reduce the pain, or something, but I couldn't find the words. Nothing would ever be good enough, nothing could relieve the agony of the loss of a loved one, and I knew it.

Briseis spoke quietly from the corner.

"You lost your cousin, now you've taken mine. When does it end?" she asked, her voice devoid of any of her vivacity, the passion that I so loved in her.

Once again, as she had done many times, she silenced me. So many things I could say fell short, would not answer the question she had put forward. So I chose the only answer I could find, the only one that I truly believed.

"It never ends."

Briseis closed her eyes and sighed, the sound of a tear in her voice, and Theo started to whimper. She held him closer and ran her hand down his back, but it didn't make any difference.

"Take him outside, Briseis." I said, the harsh tone of my voice almost surprising me.

She obliged, and, with one last glance at me, left the tent.

As her steps and Theo's cries grew softer, I picked up Patroclus' shell necklace from the table. Patroclus. My mother made it for him when he visited Larissa, when he was little more than a baby, and he wore it almost every day thereafter. He was wearing it when he died. When he was murdered.

I was on the brink of tears, trying to restrain them, when a hooded figure pulled back the fabric that hung from the door.

* * *

The man had been talking for minutes now, about love, and war, and death. And his son, Hector.

I would never have expected Priam, great king of Troy, to come here. He could have been spotted by anyone, and if they had a hot temper or if Agamemnon heard the news, he would be dead in a second. I half wanted to kill him myself for having the nerve to come here and ask what he was asking.

After I tried to defend myself by reminding Priam that his son killed my cousin, he started talking about me, asking how many cousins I'd killed. "How many sons, and fathers and brothers and husbands? How many, brave Achilles?"

I listened, but all the way fighting back images, memories that were returning to me with the king's words. Patroclus, dead on the sand, a slit across his throat. Hector, in his dying moments. My own father, on his funeral pyre, my mother weeping.

As if Priam could read my thoughts, he said, "I knew your father. He died before his time, but he was lucky, not to live long enough to see his son fall."

That's what hit me, like a sword against my breastplate. I couldn't find any words, and if they came, the sound died on my lips. Priam continued, but I didn't hear. I was too busy thinking, words and images and memories returning to me like a hail of arrows. The next thing I heard was a voice, my voice, saying, "I admire your courage. Meet me outside in a moment."

And I left.

* * *

Outside, I kneeled beside Hector's body, covering it with a blanket. Now, the cool night air and the sound of waves were my only company, and the tears overcame me.

I can't remember the last time I wept. Not at my father's death, or when I left Greece, knowing I would not return. Not for Patroclus. But now, one look at the Trojan prince's face, bloodstained and covered in sand, and I didn't feel victory, or acceptance. I just felt lost.

The blame could be laid on Briseis, I'm sure. Before I met her, before Theo was born, I was just a warrior. I did not feel like other, weaker men did; I did not feel love or fear, or any of those dangerous but altogether human emotions. But Briseis, my dear, sweet Briseis, she changed me.

And she would have to go.

She would have to leave with Priam and return to Troy. It half killed me to think it, but I could not live one more day with her knowing what I'd done, what I had taken from her. Not one more day.

* * *

"Your son was the best I've fought." I said to King Priam as Hector's body was strapped to the chariot that would take him back to Troy. "In my country, the funeral games last for twelve days."

Majestic as ever, Priam replied, "It is the same in my country."

"Then the prince will have that honour." I hesitated, knowing I would incur the wrath of Agamemnon by offering what I was about to offer. "No Greek will attack Troy for twelve days."

Then what – or who – I had been dreading all along came running up the beach.

"Briseis?" Priam half smiled and went to embrace his niece, only to stop at the sight of the tiny bundle she held in her arms. But he asked no questions. "We thought you were dead, we thought…" Briseis shook her head, and, as she did, she noticed me for the first time. Readjusting Theo in her arms as a distraction, she slowly made her way over, and I said the words that I could barely bring myself to push past my lips.

"You're free. Eudorus, fetch Theo's things."

Briseis glanced up at me and then over at her uncle. I'm sure, even without a baby, he would have noticed something pass between his niece and myself. I felt it then just as I had felt it every time before, so surely even the old king could see it.

"If I hurt you," I paused, this being the closest to an apology I had ever given, "it's not what I wanted." I looked down at Theo, sleeping peacefully in his mother's arms. Eudorus had brought his blanket and toys out now, and was loading them onto the chariot. "Take care of him. Don't let him… don't let him become like me."

Leaning in and bringing Patroclus' necklace up, I fastened it behind her neck, breathing in her scent for one last time. Memorising everything about her and out son, so, if I needed it, it could last me until the end of my days.

"Go. No one will stop you, you have my word." I looked down as I pulled away, fearing that if I spent any more time with my eyes fixed on her, I would change my mind and take back my words.

"Come, my girl." Priam called from the chariot. Briseis joined him slowly, seemingly unable to take her eyes off the black blanket that contained her cousin's body.

And then, with just a fleeting glance back at me and the camp, she disappeared into the night.


	3. Fire And Ice

Chapter Three - Fire & Ice

I woke in a strange bed. It shouldn't have been strange; it was the same chamber I'd slept in before I became a part of Apollo's temple, but it didn't feel comfortable, or homely. As horrific as my first few days in the Greek camp were, I felt safe there, strange as it may seem. There, I knew Achilles would protect me. But here, back in Troy, everything was different. I had no husband, no brothers to defend me. Hector was dead and Paris too blinded by love to be of any real use.

And then there was Theo. We'd entered Troy in the dead of night and I hadn't encountered anyone since. Clearly I could no longer wear my virgin robes; the people of the city were weary and sick of battle, but they were not stupid. But I didn't know what they would assume – whether I'd been taken without consent or given myself just to stay safe. I didn't want the gossips thinking either of those, but I also knew that no one would accept or believe the truth, especially concerning the man it concerned.

The thing I hated myself most for was that I didn't regret a moment of it. I wouldn't take back one day or one night. Not even the very first ones, when I was treated as nothing more than a dog and a whore by everyone. No, I mustn't change the past. Everyone but Achilles.

* * *

I hid. 

I heard the Greeks coming and I hid in a hole behind the statue where we sometimes kept spices. I don't know how long I was down there; I listened to the sounds of men's cries and screams for what seemed like days. Once I thought I heard Hector's voice, only for it to fade and die away. Then, when all had been quiet for a while, and my only company was the terrified thudding of my own heart, I was discovered.

The men who found me dragged me like a sack of wheat past the dead priests, down to the beach, where they were already setting up tents and meeting places. I tried to fight back, but they were much stronger than me. Even so, by the time we stopped moving, I was wet with perspiration, and my hair and robes were out of place and dishevelled.

They bound me and tied me to a pole inside a tent. This one was bigger than the others, and was already completely set up; they'd obviously started here first. I was still petrified, but by this point I had started to calm down a little. _It is the will of the Gods, _I told myself over and over again. _Whatever happens is meant to be._

But then, as the men left, one of them said something that scared me out of my mind all over again.

"Achilles'll know what to do with her."

Achilles. It took me a moment or two to recognise the name, but as soon as I did, my limbs started to shake and my heart thudded faster. The greatest Greek warrior of all time, slayer of men, women and children alike. I'd led a sheltered life in Troy, but even I had heard the stories: how his mother was an immortal goddess and he could never be killed. How he was only a shell of a man, who knew nothing but war and rage. And now I was trapped in his tent. Only the Gods knew what he'd do to me.

The slats that fell from the threshold were pulled back and a man spoke.

"The men found her hiding in the temple. They thought she'd…" he paused, "amuse you."

The slats were closed again and someone walked down the beach, but I could still hear movement inside the tent, so without looking round I assumed it was Achilles, cleaning off after today's battle.

_How long until he strikes? _I found myself thinking. _How long do I have left?_

"What's your name?" a voice said. Terrified, I stayed resolutely silent, but found the courage to turn my head quickly. The man was looking down, not at me, but, even in this state, I was a little disappointed. I had expected an ethereal glow, or something amazing, but he just looked like any ordinary man.

When I'd turned back, he spoke again. "Did you not hear me?"

After a moment, taking a deep breath in, I gathered any scraps of bravery I had left, and replied.

"You killed Apollo's priests."

"I've killed men in five countries." The warrior said. "Never priests."

"Well, then your man did. The Sun God will have his vengeance."

"What's he waiting for?" Achilles asked, with more sarcasm in his voice than I thought appropriate when referring to a God, and this was probably the cause of my next outburst.

"The right time to strike." I spat, and turned my head to face him again. This time I looked properly, remembering every detail, so that if I ever did return to Troy, I could tell the tales of this legendary hero, the best killer Greece had ever seen.

He was a handsome man, admittedly, maybe even more so than Paris, who was famous for his charms, and he had golden hair that any girl would kill for. But other than that, he was just normal. Just a man.

"His priests are dead and his acolyte's a captive." Achilles continued. "I think your god is afraid of me."

"Afraid?" I retorted. "Apollo is master of the sun. He fears nothing."

He raised his voice. "Then where is he?"

I raised mine even more. "You're nothing but a killer! You wouldn't know anything about the Gods."

I didn't know where I'd drawn this new courage from, but I cursed it now, knowing that I might have just signed my death sentence by addressing him so rudely. But instead of a drawn sword or a fit of rage, I was met with a quiet reply.

"I know more about the Gods than your priests. I've seen them." Little did I know this was the beginning of a long debate between Achilles and me; I was, and still am, a firm believer in Mount Olympus. My lover, however, treated the subject with a scepticism that I found surprising, taking into account his mother and father.

"You're royalty, aren't you? Spent years talking down to men." he continued, almost laughing at me. He leant in and picked up a strand of my hair, smelt it. "You must be royalty." he concluded. After a pause, he tried again. "What's your name?"

I still did not answer, afraid that if I gave away my name I'd somehow be betraying my uncle and cousins back in Troy. But now Achilles crouched down, and started untying my bonds. "Even servants of Apollo have names."

I looked up, intending to think of a clever reply, but nothing came. I just stayed looking into his eyes, clear blue, like the sky on a sunny day. Those eyes, that seemed to be filled with fire and ice, made me feel like I could tell him anything and everything.

"Briseis."

"Are you afraid, Briseis?"

"Should I be?"

My companion stayed quiet, as if searching for a suitable answer, but the silence was not strained. It was perfect and pure, as if a thousand moments were passing at once. It was interrupted, however, by someone appearing at the door; I found out later that it was Achilles' second, Eudorus, but at that point he was just another Greek. I flinched.

"My lord," he said. "Agamemnon requests your presence. The kings are gathering to celebrate the victory." Achilles kept his eyes on me, but addressed the man behind him.

"You fought well today."

"My lord." Eudorus nodded gratefully and exited, leaving us on our own once again. I dared to restart the conversation, choosing a question I could have asked any Greek on this beach.

"What do you want here in Troy? You didn't come for the Spartan queen."

He answered evasively, as he did so often in the months that followed. "I want what all men want. I just want it more."

There was a pause before he spoke again, answering the question I had asked earlier. "You don't need to fear me, girl. You're the only Trojan who can say that." He rose to his feet, took one last look around, and left, his words still ringing in my eas.

_You don't need to fear me, girl._ But even so, I was as scared as ever. And now, the tears that had threatened to rise throughout the whole encounter finally engulfed me, running down my cheeks like fountains.

* * *

I couldn't bring myself to cry. No matter how hard I tried, no tears would come. Beside me, Andromache sat serenely, the flames of Hector's funeral pyre reflecting off her thin veil. Helen sat beyond her, baby Astyanax in her arms, a mirror image of me holding Theo. 

They were already starting to gossip, I could tell. The older women, the children who weren't quite as interested in the prince's funeral games, were already speculating at what had happened. Who was the baby's father? How had I survived for a year with all those Greeks, each one starved of a woman's touch? And most importantly, at the death of my cousin, why wasn't I crying?


	4. Sand And Power

Chapter Four – Sand & Power

You could hear the shouts from the other end of the camp.

Agamemnon was not happy. In fact, he was so displeased I think he would have speared me then and there if he didn't need me so much. With Ajax and many of our other best warriors gone, the 'king of kings' knew that he could not do without me. I smiled every time I thought about it.

But that did not stop him from being furious with me for declaring temporary peace with Priam. Do not misunderstand me – I saw and still see his reasons. Prince Hector was dead, the Trojans were in mourning – it would have been the perfect time to strike. But a dangerous cocktail of Briseis' hopelessness, the Trojan king's words and the death of my cousin had found a chink in my armour, where I was vulnerable. And that weakness was the reason I called a truce.

I knew it would anger Agamemnon. Maybe that was another reason I did it.

* * *

The king of kings sat in his throne, spouting some rubbish about sand and Troy and soldiers. I was only half listening, thinking solely of the Trojan priestess in my tent. I knew that I could have any woman in Greece with a click of my fingers, but this one was different. This one would require chasing, but she intrigued me, and I was only too happy to continue the hunt.

"A great victory was won today." Agamemnon said, on his high horse about the battle on the beach. "But that victory is not yours. Kings did not kneel to Achilles. Kings did not pay homage to Achilles." He continued, spitting out my name as if it were poison in my mouth.

"Perhaps the kings were too far behind to see." I replied, ever calm, though my anger was mounting by the second. "The soldiers won the battle."

At this Agamemnon exploded, standing from his throne and raising his voice so loud I expected the whole of the Greek camp to hear. "History remembers kings, not soldiers!" he shouted. "Tomorrow we'll batter down the gates of Troy. I'll build monuments to victory on every island of Greece. I'll carve _Agamemnon_ in the stone."

I half smiled. "Be careful, king of kings. First you need the victory."

I'm sure Agamemnon was about to shout some more when something flickered across his face; a memory, perhaps, and his mood changed.

"Your men sacked the temple of Apollo, yes?"

"You want gold, take it. It's my gift, to honour your courage. Take what you wish."

My 'king' smiled, apparently unaware of my mockery. "I already have."

He called for two of his soldiers, and I waited, expecting them to appear with gold or spices or something from the temple. I didn't need any of it; they were welcome.

But then, the sound of a whimper.

I spun round.

There she stood, flanked by the soldiers. I say stood – she could barely keep herself upright. Her hair covered her face, but I could still see tear tracks made in the dust and sweat.

Suddenly I was filled by a surge of anger. Briseis was mine; she was given to me by _my_ men. What right did Agamemnon have to enter my tent and take her from me? What right at all?

"I've no argument with your brothers," I said, addressing the soldiers, "but if you don't release her, you'll never see home again. Decide."

Agamemnon shouted, "Guards!" and out of nowhere a dozen or so men sprung up. I pulled out my sword, prepared to defend myself. If they really thought they had any chance against me then –

"Stop!"

Hearing Briseis' voice, I turned. She had broken free; some of that fight had returned and now she was looking at me, her eyes sparkling with fire and tears.

"Too many men have died today," she choked, and stared harder. "If killing is your only talent, that's your curse. I don't want anyone dying for me."

I wanted so much to defy her, to go ahead and kill one, two, three Mycenaens. To rid myself of the anger that was threatening to release itself at any moment, but something stopped me. Maybe it was the way her voice sliced straight through me, or the way it felt like her deep brown eyes were boring tiny holes in my skin. Either or any way, it was something she did. This girl, nothing but a priestess of the enemy, then and in the year that followed, knew exactly how to make my words and actions seem meaningless.

I threw my sword to the ground.

"Mighty Achilles, silenced by a slave girl." scoffed Agamemnon, who walked slowly over to Briseis. "Tonight, I'll have her give me a bath. And then…" he picked up a strand pf her hair, just as I had done, and breathed in the scent, the heavenly scent of flowers and spices. Jasmine, I thought, "…who knows?"

"You sack of wine!" I shouted, bringing up my sword until it pointed at the pig who had stolen my captive. "Before my time is done, I'll look down on your corpse and smile." I said.

And I meant it.

* * *

Now, all the kings of Greece had been called to Agamemnon's tent, myself included. We stood around the edges, watching 'our king' page and gesticulate madly in the centre of the floor. Odysseus' eyes caught mine more than once, but I did not return his smiles.

"Troy is weak." A voice called from beside me. "We must attack her now, while she is still in mourning for her prince."

"Patience, Neleus, patience." Agamemnon held out his hand. "Due to…" he paused, fixing his cold glare on me, "circumstances, Troy shall not be attacked for twelve days." Murmurs and shouts of dissension came from all corners of the tent, but the man in the centre called for silence. "However, on the twelfth night, we shall strike, and burn her to the ground!" He raised his hands and smiled, as if the city was already his.

The noise began again, but now it was claps and cheers. Finally Troy would be ours. After twelve long months, we would breech her walls and walk in her streets. Eat her food and drink her wine.

I wanted to avenge Patroclus. I had already killed his murderer; now I wanted every man and woman in Troy to feel the consequences of their Prince's actions. But now Briseis and Theo were inside those walls, blissfully unaware.

And that changed everything.


	5. Trojans And Greeks

Chapter Five – Trojans and Greeks

I had been returned to Troy for three days when Helen discovered the truth.

I was settling back, albeit slowly, into life in the citadel. Some people had been kind, Andromache and Helen in particular. Hector's widow, strangely composed, taught me things about Theo that I never had a chance of learning amongst the Greeks. He was beginning to lift up his head now, and he would spend hours with his cousin's toys, much to Astyanax's displeasure. He would smile when he recognised me, and scream when we were parted. He was growing up, and I only wished that A–

Helen retaught me the art of weaving, a skill I had learnt long ago but had since forgotten. She spent hours at her loom every day, creating pictures of long forgotten stories and myths. Her image of the apple at the judgement of Paris could make your mouth water with desire.

Food was scarce now, or at least scarcer than it had been in the Greek camp. Because of their ships, Trojans could not sail across the Aegean, and a bad winter had made many of the crops inland fail. Most people in the city now talked of food and happiness as if they were distant memories, fleeting remembrances of long ago. Most people in the city remembered Hector and Paris' return from Sparta as what seemed like twelve years ago, rather than so little over twelve moons.

* * *

I was late. I was supposed to go with Andromache to greet the princes, home from across the sea. She and everyone else were wearing their best, their most lavish clothes, and the whole of the citadel had been richly decorated for the welcome, but I had found a rip in my robes and needed to quickly sew it up. Andromache left me to it, alone with my thoughts.

I was happy about my cousins coming home. Ever since I was a tiny child, they had always looked out for me, Hector especially. The elder of the two enjoyed being a protector – indeed now he was the city's best, but he still held space in his heart for me.

I entered the hall to join the reception committee; a few moments later, someone called "Briseis!" There was too much activity to find the source for a second, but when I did, my smile only widened.

"Paris!" I rushed forward and the younger of my cousins kissed both my cheeks in turn, then stepped back.

"Beloved cousin, your beauty grows with each new moon." I grinned even harder when Hector joined us, fresh from greeting Andromache. "Briseis." He too kissed my cheek, and remarked, "A servant of Apollo now."

I had been waiting for them to notice, and was surprised when Paris didn't straightaway. My new robes for my new place in Apollo's temple.

Priam, who had appeared seemingly from nowhere, spoke next, starting to make me slightly overcome with attention. "The young men of Troy were devastated when Briseis chose the virgin robes." The old king leant in to kiss my forehead, and Paris nodded in agreement.

"I'm sure."

"Some of those men looked at our dear cousin in a way no man should look at a woman until he has received her dowry." Hector smiled.

How naïve I was to think that that Troy, full of smiles and laughter, would last forever.

* * *

It was a stark, stark contrast to the Troy left there now. Hector's death, the war, the simple weariness of the situation had made the fabled greatest city in the world crumble to little more than a shell. Even if the Greeks breached the walls now they would find little inside worth taking, other than glory.

Three days inside Troy and not one man had looked at me in the way they used to, the way my beloved cousins so disapproved of. Whenever I walked past a mother in the street she would shoo her children ahead and hang back to glare at me. Wherever I ventured I was followed by badly concealed whispers. After the second day I reasoned that perhaps I should just not leave the palace at all.

I knew the reason for the looks and the gossip, and he lay peacefully in my arms, unaware that the city was in turmoil around him. It would have been bad enough to have returned from the enemy camp by myself, but carrying a child? Even the ones when accepted to story that it was beyond my power – and there were many who were more suspicious – even they knew that Theo should not be in the city. No matter the circumstances, he was part of the enemy. Greek blood ran through his veins, Greek cloth had wrapped his body, Greek hands had brought him into this world. I was afraid to ever turn my back for fear that some man or woman, a loyal Trojan, would snatch him and try to throw him from the city walls to rid us of the tainted flesh. When I thought of that all I could do was hold him closer and let the warmth of his tiny body wash over me. What these people forgot was that he was also part Trojan, and the Trojan blood mixed freely with the Greek in him.

* * *

It was late afternoon, and the stifling heat of the day was slowly subsiding. I had just finished feeding Theo when a young maid, probably no more than eight or nine summers old, knocked on the door and spoke in a quiet little voice.

"Prince Paris requests the pleasure of your company, my lady. He says to leave the child with me."

I frowned at her, reluctant to leave Theo with anyone, let alone a girl.

"I have three younger brothers, my lady. I am skilled in the care of children."

"Even so," I paused for her name.

"Callisto." She proffered.

"Even so, Callisto, I think I shall take Theo to see Prince Paris. They are cousins, after all, and they've never even met." I said, looking around for a blanket to wrap around the baby.

"I will inform the prince, my lady." Callisto replied, but she did not retreat down the corridor. Instead, she stayed in the threshold, staring at the little bundle in my arms.

"Yes?"

"Well, it's just that they say…" she trailed off, as if unsure if she should be telling me.

"Who say, and what do they speak of?"

"My mother and aunt." Callisto continued, seemingly encouraged by my question. "They say that your baby is the child of the great Achilles himself."

I felt myself take in a sharp breath, and my heart missed a beat, but my mouth managed to pull itself into an unnatural smile.

"What a silly story!" I said, knowing I sounded anything but convincing. "Now, Callisto, run along and tell the prince that I will be arriving shortly. And tell him that Theo will be with me."

* * *

Paris, sat awkwardly on the bed, glared at me as I entered. I assumed he was attempting to make me feel guilty for bringing Theo against his will, but I would not. That was something I decided on very soon after I returned to Troy: I would not feel guilty, and I would not regret, for I had done nothing wrong.

But not in Paris' eyes.

He was devastated by his brother's death, one could tell as much just by looking at him. Some of that youthful vigour had gone; he had aged ten years in a few days. He just about accepted me, but he refused to accept Theo into Troy at all, anyone who'd listen, "The son of a Greek has no place in this city." I liked Helen too much to remind my cousin that she, too, was Greek.

Next to his bed was a chair, which I sat in carefully and waited for Paris to speak. He seemed unsure of what to say; he would come out with chains of words that didn't mean a thing and then stay silent for minutes. When he finally found a coherent sentence, Theo was already starting to stir.

"Briseis, when we heard that the Greeks had taken the temple of Apollo, we assumed they would kill everyone in it. We thought…" he paused to look over at me, choking on his words. "We thought you were dead. Take my word: had we known you were alive and well we would have rescued you faster than an arrow flies." Paris sighed sadly. "I feel terrible knowing now that they could have done anything to you in that camp while we sat safe inside these walls."

What Paris was saying took me by surprise. Yes, I was his cousin and yes, one year ago I would have expected him to rescue me, but in a war things change. I had been in that camp, I had lived with those soldiers and I knew they would easily kill anyone on a rescue mission. With hundreds of soldiers it would be different, but attempting to retrieve a priestess who was most likely dead already? No one would agree to it.

Paris continued, a microtone more upbeat. "Well, at least we can say none of them took a fancy to you and tried to take you back to Greece." He half smiled and looked outside the window at the fading sun. "I told Mother I'd check on the King. He's been terrible since…" Trailing off, Paris looked at me and sighed. "At such a time it is lovely to have at least the small comfort of knowing you are safe." My cousin looked at Theo for a moment, who, as if by miracle, had woken without crying, and the slightest flicker of a smile passed his face. Then he left, passing Helen at the threshold.

She said something, but I didn't hear or respond. I was too lost in what Paris had said… _None of them took a fancy to you and tried to take you back to Greece…_ Because I knew deep down that if a certain enemy soldier had attempted to take me back to his homeland I would have gone with too little thought. And that made me feel guilty, even though I had promised myself I wouldn't.

"Briseis?" Helen's voice broke through my thoughts. "Briseis, we must talk about this. If Theo's father–"

"Helen." I interrupted, pausing to slow my breathing and arrange my words before continuing.

"You of all people know how it is to fall in love with the wrong man."

Paris' princess took a while to register my words, but when she did she raised her eyebrows disbelievingly, and breathed, "Love?" There was a pause. I looked down.

"Who?" Helen whispered. "Which man, Briseis?"

But I could see on her face that she was starting to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. Theo's hair; she had seen those golden strands before…

I placed my hand on my son's head and started to babble like a madwoman, unable to keep the words from spilling from my mouth. "Oh, Helen, he's a good man underneath the armour. His heart beats like any other's. He–"

_Sweltering heat, two men alone on the plain…_

Helen knew. But she stayed silent.

"Cousin, please. Do not tell Paris, or think less of me for this."

The princess smoothed down her dress and stood, looking calmly down into my eyes. "I will pray for you tonight, Briseis, and for Theo. The Gods know you shall need it."

And with that, she swept out of the room.

Theo, squirming in my arms, began to wail.


	6. Gods And Kings

Chapter Six – Gods and Kings

The great Odysseus had log been known for his crafty ways and wily mind, and now he would save the Greeks.

There was, Agamemnon proclaimed, to be a horse. A great horse that could hold inside it tens of soldiers. We would take Troy while she slept, while the heads of her sons and daughters were fuzzy with drink.

And we would destroy her.

I had long looked up to Odysseus and admired his mind, but surely, I thought then, surely trickery is not the way to do things. Surely a war should be fought fairly, strength versus strength, skill versus skill. The best nation wins. When I questioned the king of Ithaca, he just replied, "We have been here, on these shores, for twelve long moons. If Troy has not fallen by now, she will never fall by force."

By day I helped with the building, and by night -

By night I dreamt of Briseis.

* * *

I had spent the day in the scorching heat with the Myrmidons, on a cliff overlooking the battlefield. Despite the satisfaction of knowing Agamemnon could not fight a good battle without me, I couldn't help but to grit my teeth and curse whenever he made a huge tactical error, which happened more than a few times.

The battle ended, the Greeks sorely defeated, and the day faded away into a cool, airy night.

Briseis always called I the night I rescued her.

I was eating when I heard shouts from further down the camp. They sounded mostly like shouts of laughter and celebration, but I could truly see no cause to celebrate.

The first thing I saw was a small fire, its tongues of light probing into the darkness. Then, as I got closer, a white robe, being flung around a circle. A woman inside the robe, obviously weak but still fighting. I assumed that she was another captive; I never thought it was her because I never thought Agamemnon would let her go. He knew I'd get her back easily, though that did have some sort of twisted logic to it. Maybe the leader of the Achaeans assumed if I had my captive back, the Myrmidons would fight for him. But walking down the beach and watching her it never once crossed my mind.

As soon as I recognised her, I ran.

I hadn't noticed the beautiful waved hair, or the sparkle in her eyes. When I did, I was filled with the same feeling I'd had the day before: that I'd go to any lengths to protect her.

As I sprinted towards the fire, someone shouted, "Achilles!"; my instinct flooded in; I had one cause, and that was to rescue this strange, rude, wonderful girl. A brand to the neck and a soft hit later, she was in my arms, her eyes closed but her heart thudding wildly.

By the time we reached my tent she had regained some form of consciousness and pushed me away as I placed her down. Her eyes, like sweet, dark honey, locked on mine as I sat.

"Are you hurt?"

She didn't reply, just watched my hands as I wrung out a cloth to clean her.

"I watched you fight them." I persevered. "You have courage."

"To fight back when people attack me? A dog has that kind of courage." she spat.

Undeterred by her response, I leaned in to try and wipe the blood and dirt from her face, but she pushed me away. My second attempt, a little harder. After I lost patience and threw the cloth at he instead, she just threw it back, her spirit returned.

I dropped the cloth in the bowl of water by my side.

"Eat." I said, offering her a platter of fruit and nuts. She declined the offer, but instead decided to pursue a conversation.

"I've known men like you my whole life."

"No, you haven't."

"You think you're so different from a thousand others? Soldiers understand nothing but war. Peace confuses them." The little Trojan priestess lifted her head, as if it contained all the knowledge in the world.

I took a bit from the pomegranate I held in my hand, and said, more as a remark than as a question, "And you hate these soldiers."

"I pity them." She corrected me.

"Trojan soldiers died trying to protect you. I think they deserve more than your pity."

Briseis once again changed the course of the conversation.

"Why did you choose this life?"

"What life?"

"To be a great warrior." She replied, raising her chin.

I waited a moment before answering, admiring the sharp but somehow smooth contours of her face. "I chose nothing. I was born, and this is what I am." I said. "And you, why did you choose to love a god? I think you'll find the romance–" there was a pause while I turned the words over in my mouth. "–one sided."

The response was swift. "Do you enjoy provoking me?"

My first instinct was to say 'no', but that would have been a lie. The truth was that I did enjoy it. I loved to see the sparkle on her face when she thought of the perfect response; I felt chills up my spine when our eyes locked together, even just for a moment.

I could not answer, either affirmative or negative, so instead I pursued yet another train of thought.

"You've dedicated your life to the Gods. Zeus, god of thunder. Athena, goddess of wisdom. You serve them."

"Yes, of course."

"And Ares, god of war, who blankets his bed with the skin of men he's killed?" I continued, challenging her to reply.

Her voice lowered, the uncertainty creeping through. "All the Gods are to be feared and respected."

There was a strained silence that stretched too long. I eat, Briseis did not move. Her eyes glinted in the candlelight and searched my face.

"I'll tell you a secret, something they don't teach you in your temple." I leant in, looking at nothing but those eyes. "The Gods envy _us_. They envy us because we're mortal. Because every moment might be out last. Everything's more beautiful _because_ we're doomed." Briseis looked down; I carried on. "You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again."

"I thought you were a dumb brute." The little Trojan priestess leant forward to pick up a pomegranate from the platter that lay between us. She took a bite."I could have forgiven a dumb brute."

Forgiven for what, I never knew for sure.

* * *

Glaucus, father of Bellepheron, was a Corinthian king. The story goes that he fed his horses on human flesh to make them grow strong; to guarantee wins at the games.

Glaucus angered Aphrodite, goddess of love. So the night before he was due to ride his horses that the funeral games of King Pelias, the immortal fed his horses not on meat, but magical water and sacred herbs. The sun rose and the race began. But Glaucus' horses, wild on the herbs, ran faster and more erratically than ever before; the king of Corinth could not control them. He held on tight, clinging for dear life, but soon he fell. The horses smelled the blood and ripped him apart.

The Greek horse, our horse, was beginning to take shape. One could see legs, a back, a spectre of a head. I had to be gigantic; big enough to hold a score of soldiers inside.

Like Glaucus, we were building a horse to be filled with human flesh. And I fear the end may be just as bloody.


	7. Bread And Honey

Chapter Seven – Bread and Honey

Six days. Six long days, dragged out by the stifling heat, had I spent back in Troy. It felt like a lifetime. I was pining. Along with the city, pining in grief for their beloved prince, I longed for him.

I dared not even speak his name, but I didn't need to to feel his absence. The petty little arguments, the wicked smiles. Just when I thought I would scream from the silence after a fight he would interject a silly yet quick-witted comment. And when the sun fell, when the warmth of his body curved into my back, fitting together like pieces of a human jigsaw. Now I only had Patroclus' shell necklace and Theo to remind me of him.

Theodosius, son of Achilles, was the exact image of his father. The same shimmering hair framed his face, with the same cheeks and jaw. He had the same smile, filled with affection and yet still a hero's. The only difference was the eyes.

Theo was born with blue orbs, almost exactly the same shade and tone as Achilles'. We were warned that they might change, for babies often trick their parents that was, and they did. Over what seemed like the space of a blink, they changed from icy blue to a deep honey brown, much the same as mine.

I was partly glad of that now. If those eyes were there in front of me without actually being there, I fear it would have been even harder for me to hang on.

* * *

_His _eyes were closed, in the midst of sleep. His chest moved up and down rhythmically as he breathed in and out, in and out. I gripped the knife, cold and hard against my hand, and moved it towards Achilles' neck.

_Push in, pull across._

I had thought about it long and hard as I lay awake, unable to sleep in the heat. Surely if I killed Greece's greatest warrior, they would be easy to defeat. That day's battle had shown they were weak without him. Surely if he were dead, Agamemnon would give up, go home, leave Troy in peace so as not to lose too many men.

Surely it could not be hard to just push the knife in and pull it across.

I wanted to kill Achilles, didn't I? He had slain Trojans, desecrated the temple of Apollo. He was nothing more than a murderer, a heartless beast.

And yet he had rescued me.

While other men would have watched and laughed and even joined in, he had come to save me. Shouldn't it be the other Greeks with the dagger to their throats? If they–

"Do it."

A voice broke into my thoughts. My inner debate had lost me time and the element of surprise, and now Achilles lay beneath me, his eyes open, almost glowing in the darkness. "Nothing is easier." He whispered.

I took a deep breath in, trying to steady my shaking hand. "Aren't you afraid?"

"Everyone dies. Today or fifty years from now, what does it matter?" the warrior replied, calm, no trace of fear at all in his voice. Then he lifted his arms and gripped mine, threatening, pulling me closer until I could feel his breath on my face.

"Do it."

It seemed strange and idiotic that I was the one more afraid, yet I was not the one being pinned down with a knife pressed against my throat. My hands were starting to sweat, loosening my grip on the weapon, however much I tried to restore my conviction.

"You'll kill more men if I don't kill you."

"Many," he breathed, his face expressionless but his sparkling eyes just daring me to go further, to push the knife in. I could certainly do it. I was the one in power. The one on top and the one holding the dagger.

But I had underestimated Greek's greatest warrior. My guard down, in a blink he flipped me over completely, so now his body pinned down mine. He rested his hand on my leg; my heart beat faster and faster and blood rushed to my cheeks and my pelvis. Unable to control it, my breath grew faster and more ragged.

Despite the knife, Achilles pushed his head down further so his soft, warm lips made contact with mine. His hand moved further up my leg, pushing my skirt up as it went.

The knife fell away.

That night he took me to the heights of ecstasy I'd never even imagined. It felt like I'd been sent to heaven and back, like I had a fire raging in every piece of my body. That night, it didn't matter that he was Greek and I was Trojan, or that he was a killer, and I merely a girl. All that mattered was that we were in the other's arms.

* * *

Almost twelve moons later, and here the result: drifting off to sleep in my arms. A picture of perfection; his cherry lips shaped into a pout and his hair shimmering in the sunlight.

This is why I will not regret: because without it, I would not have Theo.

* * *

Nine days in, Andromache somehow persuaded me to leave the palace for the first time in a week. She offered to keep watch over Theo if I walked down to the market to see if any bread could be found. Reluctant as I was, I wanted the princess to have the food; since Hector's death not a morsel had passed her lips, and now her bones stuck out awkwardly beneath her skin. Any interest in eating should have been taken as a good sign.

So I found a scarf and wrapped it round my head, partly for protection from the sun and partly to prevent recognition, and left the safety of the citadel. I didn't see anyone at all for almost half the journey; the heat that day was almost unbearable and most inhabitants were keeping cool inside. I couldn't help but think of Achilles and the others on the beach. If anything under cover was even hotter than outside, and often we would resort to just sitting in the sea, letting the water cool us down. Feeling the waves wash over while the sun drained the life from us…

I was jerked from my trancelike state in a second. To this day I'm not entirely sure what happened; I think I must have tripped on a stone or a rogue toy. As I fell, the stark branches of an overhead tree caught my scarf and pulled it clean from me, revealing my face and hair. I scrambled to my feet, rearranged the scarf and carried on towards the market, determined to return to the palace as soon as possible.

A giggle, behind me, a child's voice.

"Look, it's the Greek's whore."

"I'm surprised she's showing her face down here. Mother says she's been hiding in her room for a week." Another voice, this time slightly older sounding.

"Hiding with that bastard child of hers."

I paused. Wrapped the scarf tighter and hurried on.

The market was almost deserted; a combination of the burning sun and the fact that there was barely any food to sell had kept the people away. Making my way over to the nearest baker, I pulled out my purse. A boy stood behind the stall, but made no effort to sell to me. I coughed loudly to attract his attention, but still he did not come.

"Excuse me," I called, holding up a loaf, "how much is this?"

"I'm sorry, we're not selling today." The boy replied, shifting on his feet.

"Well, how can it be that you have your stall out in this sun of you're not selling?"

The boy looked both ways before leaning in and answering in a whisper. "My father told me not to sell to you. I'm sorry, but he said I mustn't."

I paused, turned, frowned, and began to walk back to the citadel.

When I returned to Troy I did not expect to be welcomed with open arms. But I did not expect to be refused food to eat, or giggled at in the street. It seemed unfair that I was the one who was the victim, stolen away by enemy soldiers, and yet now I was seen as the villain by young and old alike. I could have had no contact at all with any Greek while in that camp, and who was a Trojan to know? I could have–

But they did know.

I brought two things back from that place; one lay under my pillow, one on it: Patroclus' shell necklace, and Theo. My baby. Proof of my betrayal, as they saw it. Maybe it was. No guilt, no regret, but I had willingly given myself to a Greek and willingly kept his child.

If it weren't for Theo there would be no – or at least fewer – disapproving looks. If it weren't for him, I could still buy bread and walk the streets in peace. If it weren't for Theo…

As I walked through the door to the palace, my thoughts muddled by the heat, I decided what I had to do.

I started off slowly, but as I passed through doors and climbed staircases my pace quickened, so by the time I reached my room I was almost at a run. Andromache was sitting on the floor, cradling Theo and playing with Astyanax. Smiling quickly and bending down, I took my baby from her and rested him on my shoulder.

And I ran.

I ran down corridors and stairways, through arches and courtyards. My heart thudded wildly and Theo screamed on my shoulder, but I would not stop.

Underneath the Great Hall, by the kitchens, there was a laundry room, where all the sheets and blankets were kept when they weren't being used. When I was younger, I loved to hide in it and guess what was being cooked for the evenings. But that was not why I was going there now.

Flinging the door open, I ran to the furthest corner and lay Theo down on a thick blanket that had been placed on the floor. I picked up a piece of cloth, discarded on a shelf, covered his face…

And pushed down.

_This way it'll go back to normal._

The baby started to wave his arms, one could hear muffled crying.

_No more looks, no more laughs._

His legs thrashed wildly. One tear.

_No more reminding me of him. No. More._

His skin had a slight tint of blue, and his arms and legs waved weaker. Wet, on my cheek.

_Not long now._

"Briseis!"

Someone grabbed me from behind and pulled my arms away. Theo kicked the cloth off, coughing and screaming. Andromache scooped him up and whispered soothing words into his ear.

"What were you doing?" She somehow managed to shout without raising her voice. I, however, did no such thing.

"You don't know what it's like!" I screamed. "You don't know how it is for, every time someone looks at you, for them to look at you either with pity or as if you were nothing more than river scum. To feel as if you're completely trapped with nowhere to go!" The tears were coming freely now, and I had completely lost control of my speech. "To have borne a child by Achilles and to know. To know how you've betrayed your country, your people. You don't know how it feels!"

Andromache did not retort, but instead said, in a voice so broken and with eyes so wide one would say her husband had been slain all over again;

"Achilles?"

There was nothing with which to reply.


	8. Words And Water

Chapter Eight – Words and Water

It was finished a little before sundown. The last plank of wood laid, the last bolt tightened. And it was magnificent. The head rose taller than three men; the belly could fit inside many more. And it would.

A great feast was being held in Odysseus' honour, to congratulate him on his great idea. Naturally, Agamemnon sat at the head of the table, and naturally he was drawing most of the attention to himself, but the intention was there, supposedly.

Yet there was still a falseness, as we drank the toasts and broke the bread. We all knew who this meal was for. Tonight, leader or Greece, tomorrow, ruler of the Aegean.

* * *

She lay face up, one arm splayed out to one side and the other on top of the blanket that half covered her. Her eyes flitted about underneath her lids; lost in dreams, completely oblivious to me.

I wasn't quite sure what to do now. Last night, it had been only too simple. Caught in the moment, I had forgotten that I could not just leave in the morning, like I had done so many times. Of course, I could send her away, but watching her asleep there I knew I never could. And trying to leave myself would mean taking the Myrmidons with me, practically signing a death warrant for every other man in the camp.

I had never been left to deal with the consequences of my actions before, to have to solve the problem of a woman who wanted to see me again, because by the time they woke I was long gone. Not today.

So while I sat there I thought it over, carefully contemplating every angle of every path I could take, and I found myself with only one option: I had to leave. I had to sail back home.

There were three reasons. First, because I wanted to see Agamemnon's humiliation. Another few days of slaughter without the Myrmidons and surely he would return to Greece. I wanted him to see him admit that even he, King of Kings, could not breach Troy's walls.

The second reason was Briseis herself. If she felt anything, any kind of affection, towards me, then I did not want to encourage it or form any sort of bond. She was strong and independent and intelligent, but I did not want her to become embroiled in the bitterness of war.

Lastly, I was scared. Achilles, the great warrior, who fears nothing but his emotions. I hadn't quite deciphered what I felt towards Briseis yet: more than lust, not quite love, but if I returned to Larissa and never saw her again, surely it would disappear, not be such a daunting prospect. That is what I hoped, at least.

I was jerked from my deep state of thought by the sound of the slats at the door, and turned to see Eudorus framed in the threshold. He started to speak before he realised Briseis was there, and I raised my head a little to silence him. I didn't want her waking up now. Taking one last look at her, sleeping innocently, peacefully, I stepped out into the sunlight.

"Tell the men to start loading the ship. We're going home."

My second looked at me, puzzled, for a moment but soon saw that I would not change my mind. He left me to notice Odysseus on my own.

The details of that conversation are hazy now, blurred like the morning mist over the ocean. I remember the King of Ithaca talking about Agamemnon, and how he served him because the King of Greece was too powerful to count as an enemy. Over this long year, the words have faded, but a few stand out. Odysseus said, "We need you back. Greece needs you."

I retorted in my normal matter-of-fact manner. "Greece got along fine before I was born, and Greece will be Greece long after I'm dead."

"I'm not talking about the land. The men need you." my companion paused. "Stay, Achilles. You were born for this war."

I suddenly thought of my mother back in Greece, wading in the shallows. _You will find glory, _her voice echoed. _But your glory lies hand in hand with your doom._ Then my mind flitted to the fragile Trojan priestess, lying vulnerable just metres away, her hair fanned out underneath her head like a halo.

"Things are less simple today."

Odysseus smiled knowingly. "Women have a way of… complicating things." He said, and his words rang so true they hurt.

* * *

Even as I drank and eat the best our supplies had to offer, I couldn't stop my mind from returning to Briseis. I knew that, inside those walls, she and Theo and their loved ones would be sleeping, completely oblivious that tomorrow night the city would be far from dreams. I had half a mind to slip through and at least warn her of what was coming, but she wouldn't listen. She always was a stubborn thing, and Theo did nothing to ease it. Even if I did manage to enter Troy, and I highly doubted I would, I didn't think it would be able to leave her side again, and that would put us all in danger.

* * *

Two months had passed since that morning on the beach, and I had not yet stepped foot on a battlefield. But over the months Odysseus' words had worn me down. I suppose they did mean something to me at the time, too, because we never did leave – although mostly because I couldn't bear to leave Briseis, or tear her away from Troy – but now I had made my decision. If Greece needed me, then for Greece I would fight, and end the madness.

Briseis, however, had other plans.

"You mean to say you will forsake your reputation and bow down to Agamemnon, just because he asked you to?" she fumed. "What about what you said?"

She was argumentative this morning, her usual stubbornness amplified tenfold. Just a week earlier she had been fighting with me for not going to battle, but she had changed her mindset now, and I couldn't work out the cause.

"If you're worried about me being hurt, you needn't. You know I'll return unscathed." I replied, trying to remain calm.

"How do you know? And how do you know you're not leading your men to their deaths?" she raised her voice more.

"I promise you, Briseis, the Myrmidons will not be in danger."

Briseis ignored my words and swept to the door.

"Since when did killers keep their promises?" she spat, and almost ran across the threshold.

I left a few minutes before following her. Even if I could not still see faint footprints in the sand, I knew where she would be.

She didn't know that I knew that she came down here, but near the end of the beach there was a hiding place between two rocks where I could see everything without being seen myself. Briseis often retreated here when we had argued, or she just wanted some time alone. Usually she sat by the water's edge, letting it lap over her feet, but today she paced up and down. After a few minutes she slowed, then after a few more she keeled over and emptied the contents of her stomach on the sand, again and again. I assumed she's eaten some bad meat, or had caught an illness.

I did not know enough about woman's bodies to know that it was just Theo telling us that he was on his way.

* * *

I let a secret smile pass my face as I made my way back to the tent. The pre-battle festivities were still going strong, but I knew that if I wanted to be alert tomorrow I would have to sleep now. I welcomed it, for I knew I'd dream of Briseis and Theo, asleep inside the walls. And if I had been told the truth, that the war of Troy would bring about my doom and that the war of Troy would end tomorrow, then I knew that dream may well be my last.


	9. Blessings And Gifts

Chapter Nine – Blessings & Gifts

Ten days since my cousin's death and the funeral games would end before the next three were out. The heat had died down a little and the breeze had picked up. The hours seemed more bearable.

I had neither seen, heard from nor attempted to make contact with Andromache since she found me in the laundry room with Theo and later left, slowly and calmly, but with a flood of tears in her eyes. It was not that I was scared of what she would think – I already knew – but that I did not want to remind her again of the day Hector was taken from her. I loved her too much to hurt her any more.

Helen had been with me, but her manner had changed considerably. She no longer smiled in the same way, and when she came to see me it was because something needed doing, or she wanted me to fetch something, not because she wanted to see me. She did not hold Theo anymore.

All the time I carried Theo I did not once think I would be judged like this. I hardly expected to return to Troy at all, but I did not expect to be rejected by one person I loved like a sister and another I could have grown to. Not once.

* * *

We lay facing each other, neither of us wanting to sleep but perfectly content to just look at the other. My arms curled up into my chest; one of his arms draped protectively over me. I was still dizzy from the events of just minutes before, but I knew if I didn't find the courage to tell him now, I never would. I just didn't know how.

"Am I still your captive?" I asked Achilles, covering my bottom lip with my top.

"You're my guest." Achilles replied, with that heroic self-confidence he always carried.

I shifted my weight. It was this time of night, after we made perfect, bittersweet love, that I felt closest to him. At that time, as we lay next to each other, it was as if all his defences had been left with his clothes on the floor; he was open with me, I was open with him.

"In Troy, guests can leave whenever they want."

"You should leave then."

He knew I wouldn't, more certainly than I did. He knew that I couldn't survive without him – couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't inhale – long before I did. But only I knew why I wouldn't leave that night.

Our mouths were still inches apart from where we'd rested when we settled. I could feel his warm breath on my lips. He truly was a hero. He looked like a hero, fought like one, spoke like one. In some way that I never quite grasped he even loved like a hero. I needed him, however, to be able to be more than that.

"Would you leave this all behind?"

The trace of a smile passed Achilles' mouth.

"Would you leave Troy?"

I knew I had to tell him now, or I never would. Bringing my arm up to rest on his shoulder, I breathed in, leant in, and placed a kiss on his lips. He, in return, looked at me, puzzled.

"There is something troubling you. What is it?"

"How much do you know of women?"

"I know that they often avoid answering a question by posing another." My lover laughed.

"I haven't had the curse for almost three moons."

I watched the smile leave Achilles' face, and be replaced by a question: furrowed brow and head tilted forward. I let my eyes and my expression speak for me.

There was no argument, he didn't tell me to leave. Instead the smile returned and his soft lips leant in to kiss mine. I had my response.

* * *

Now that the heat had become less stifling, it was more bearable to take a walk in the palace gardens. Food may be scarce now, but the plants were still watered and the lawns kept tidy. I decided it would be better for both me and Theo to spend time outside than cooped up indoors, so on my eleventh day back in the city I took him to the garden just below my window. I had hoped for a quiet time, when I could relax and think – about what and who I cared not to admit even to myself – but I was not so lucky.

"Typical Trojans. Their city is about to perish and yet they still find time to keep the gardens presentable." A voice said behind me.

I twisted my neck to see who, and laughed in surprise. Cassandra, daughter of Priam and sister of Hector and Paris, did not venture outside much, instead preferring her own company, but today she had seemingly been struck with the same idea as me.

"Perish?" I questioned, shifting the dead weight of Theo's sleeping body.

I know you don't believe me, Briseis. You think what I see is just the dreaming of a madwoman." It was true. So few people, if any, believed what Cassandra said about the demise of Troy. "But I see it, as clear as you see me now. I see screaming, and burning, and death." Her voice drifted off and her eyes glazed over; when she returned to consciousness they were full of fear.

"Briseis, my dear cousin," she whispered, gripping my arm urgently. "Get out, leave tonight while you still can. Please, Briseis. Take Theo and go."

I smiled uneasily, trying to humour her. I wouldn't leave. There were no arguments for it; if the Greeks had not broken our walls by now they never would, Achilles said as much himself, and if I left, the chance of our family being reunited were even slimmer. Besides, everybody in Troy knew that Cassandra was not in her right mind.

* * *

Three days passed after I told Achilles my news, and he was so proud to be becoming a father. He told everyone – I suppose it just confirmed his hero status. I didn't want to think about all the other women who could have done the same thing, if he'd stayed longer than a night. But after five days, he still believed we could be a real family, even in the middle of a war. It was only after eight days that the full enormity of the situation struck him.

I had argued with him the day before, saying I didn't want the whole army to know when there was still so much to go wrong. I had reminded him that there was no guarantee of a healthy baby or a baby at all, living in the camp. So I entered the tent the next day to find him gathering together my few belongings, smiling sadly. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm taking you to Lemnos. It's not too far away, and they can care for you there. It's like you said: there's so much danger here."

I cut him off firmly. "I won't go."

"Briseis." Achilles sighed and smiled. "I want you to be safe, especially now." He rested one hand on my stomach and one round my back. "I just want you to be safe."

I moved closer and nestled my head beneath his chin, draping my arm around his neck. Over the last few days I'd realised why I couldn't go through with killing him those months before – I was in love with him.

I smiled and whispered, "I already am."

* * *

Whispers of the gift reached the palace a few hours before midday on the last day of Hector's funeral games. I heard two maids talking about it as they passed my room, while I tried to settle Theo. Over his screams I mead out, "horse," "by the gate," "Greeks have gone home." Before the last comment I wasn't too concerned, but if the Greeks had gone…

I travelled as fast as I could towards the Skaian gate, hoping against hope that it wasn't true. Or if it wasn't, that one particular Greek had stayed behind. The motion seemed to calm Theo and he quietened down. _Please, please, please, _as I rounded the last corner.

But there it was. Taller than three or four Trojans, and as long as it was tall. There was already a large crowd around it, cheering and dancing, but I wasn't in the mood for celebration. Achilles has gone.

* * *

The number of days I lay in Achilles' tent on my back, not able to summon the strength or willpower to move, grew too numerous to count. But one remains fresh in my mind.

It was a cold day, near midwinter. Achilles had gone to talk with Odysseus, so I was left alone with my – now growing – belly. I was just drifting off into a light sleep, but something jolted me awake. I couldn't be sure what it was, so I lay still for a few moments in case it happened again.

It did. A small, insistent pushing from inside, like a kicking, the tiny human inside me kicking to get out. Just when it was starting to get unbearable, Achilles entered the tent. "Ah, the politics of war. Agamemnon is saying–"

I held up a hand, motioning for my lover to stop talking. The kicking had stopped. Then as soon as my belly realised his father has stopped talking, it began again.

I beckoned for Achilles to continue talking, which he did, despite looking more than confused, and sit down on the mat, where I moved his hand to my stomach just before the movement once again ceased. Achilles looked up at me and smiled, with an expression on his face, full or awe and amazement and love. It still appears to me every night, when I close my eyes and sink deep into sleep.

* * *

Evening fell and princes and servants alike drifted back to the palace, their minds made drowsy by the drink. That night thay slep soundly, unaware of the horror that came just hours after. I, however, couldn't settle. And it probably saved us.


	10. Sleep and Life

Chapter 10 – Sleep And Life

If there were any a time to thank the Gods, this is it.

Being inside a giant wooden horse would not be ideal on the best of days, but if we had been confined on one of the hotter days of summer it would have been unbearable. Tonight it is slightly cooler, and my mind is clear enough to think back over the last twelve moons. I have accepted now that tonight is my final night, and I know that as long as I see Briseis and Theo one last time, I will die happy.

* * *

Months passed. Briseis was second in attention only to Agamemnon – she was carrying Achilles' child, and needed to be looked after. No one knew huge amounts about how to care for her, but as long as her belly kept growing and the baby kept moving, we took it mean that she was fine. We were both relaxed, assured that when the time came we would know what to do.

Then one night she woke me, crying and screaming that her stomach felt as if it were being torn in half. I asked Eudorus to run down the beach and fetch one of Ajax's men whose wife was a nurse, and some of the Myrmidons prepared to sail for Lemnos for help, but it would take a day at least. We did think of taking her to Troy, just for the birth, but there was no guarantee she would ever come back. So we stayed and prayed to Hera. And we waited.

I wasn't sure where I should be or what I should do. Briseis and I both knew that a man's place is not by a woman's side during the birth, but it killed me to see her in so much pain. And the rules are different during a war – back in Greece or even inside those walls I wouldn't have to worry, but here anything could happen. So I held Briseis' hand, made the tent as clean as I could, and I waited.

It seemed to be days, long weary days, before the Ajax's man, Philemon, looked up at Briseis and said, "Are you ready?"

Just minutes later he was there; the tiny, screaming, red and sticky ball, who Philemon wrapped in a towel and handed to Briseis. Theodosius, of Greece and Troy. "God given", our moment of peace in the hell of war.

Our son.

* * *

Most of the men are sleeping now, in preparation for tonight's battle. I cannot. It is still light outside, and shafts of sun beam through the tiny gaps in the exterior of the horse. I can see and hear the Trojans, celebrating their victory. A bittersweet victory, if there ever was one. I keep trying to see if Briseis is there. Almost hopeless, I know, with so many people all moving and dancing at once, but I thought I saw her earlier, on a higher platform, looking down. She carried a bundle in her arms – Theo – but she didn't stay long. If it was her, she didn't return.

I wonder if she thinks I've left. I wonder if she went back to her room out of sadness. And then, for the first time, I wonder if she's been thinking about me at all. It's entirely possible she's been so caught up in her life back in Troy that she's forgotten all about me, or erased me from her memory on purpose.

But no, I'm sure I meant more to her than that. I'm sure.

* * *

Briseis spent another hour or two awake, feeding Theo, and just holding him close. "I can't believe he's here," she kept repeating. "I can't believe he's ours." Her smile was like I'd never seen it before: so full of life, even more so than usual, that she seemed to radiate light.

By late afternoon she started to tire, so she handed the care of Theo over to me while she slept. I knew nothing about caring for babies, but in all my life I had never felt the same way about anyone or anything. I was totally in love with him, yet in a different way to his mother. He was tiny, and felt fragile enough to snap. When he opened his eyes, both they and his entire face filled with inquisitive wonder, and when they closed, the lids fluttered in time with his miniature chest rising up and down, up and down.

After waking once to feed him, Briseis slept almost through the night. We assumed that she was just regaining her strength after her ordeal, and were happy to let her do so, but Theo had other ideas.

"My lord," Eudorus said, emerging from the tent, so hesitantly that I knew something was wrong. I had sent him inside to wake Briseis while I tried to quieten Theo; it had been hours since he was last fed. "My lady… she is sick."

I raced inside, placing Theo down on a blanket in the corner before running to Briseis. Eudorus was right: her forehead was hot and clammy, and she writhed about like she was possessed, but her eyes stayed closed. Theo screamed louder from the corner. I ran outside, when a group of men had gathered, seemingly awaiting news, or orders.

"Eudorus." I pulled him aside. "Fetch Odysseus and find some milk. Any kind, just something for him to drink. And find a doctor. Quickly."

"Yes, my lord." Eudorus ran down the beach, leaving me to stop and think the situation through. Odysseus would know what to do. He had a son, and he possessed intelligence. And scraps I might have had had disappeared, I was so panicked. Everyone had heard about the sweating sickness some women received after birth, and everyone had seen the orphaned babies. But surely, the doctor would make Briseis better, and we could be a family again.

An hour later not much had changed. Odysseus had fashioned a teat for Theo and fed him the milk while I sat with Briseis. At least now, even if he wasn't sleeping, he was quiet, disturbing his mother less. She, in turn, was not better. The doctor told us that she was not the first person to be infected and the camp supplies had gone, so we would just have to pray to the Gods to give her strength, and her body would heal itself. If not…

I couldn't help but feel partly responsible. If I had made the tent cleaner, would Briseis be this ill? Would Theo be without a mother for another night of his life? I didn't know for sure, but soon enough guilt and tiredness engulfed me and I fell into a dreamless sleep.

I woke to find the tent empty. At first I took it as one of Briseis' night time strolls by the water, but then the new situation registered. Had her condition worsened so much that she had been taken somewhere? And where was Theo? He couldn't have been fed in hours.

I ran outside, hoping against hope that she was sitting on the sand, holding Theo to her breast, but there was nothing. Nothing. Only the gently rhythmic lapping of the waves. _But wait,_ I stopped myself from waking any of the men. _That's Theo_. A far off but insistent cry, coming from somewhere further inland. I ran. Out of the darkness emerged a familiar figure, stumbling towards Troy. Briseis, carrying a screaming Theo, his head lolling on her shoulder.

I stopped just in front of her, pausing just to see if she looked more well than she had. But if anything, it was worse; her hair was matted for lack of brushing, her eyes were shot red and beads of perspiration had formed on her forehead. I took a deep breath in and stopped her walking.

"Briseis?" I said gently. "Briseis, it's me. It's Achilles."

Briseis' face showed no trace of recognition for a few moments, but then she remembered and smiled. "Achilles! My love, I'm just going to visit Paris and Hector. They'll want to see their baby cousin, and he can play with little Astyanax." Her speech was slow and slurred; if I didn't know she was delirious, I would just say she'd had too much to drink, but this was much more serious. I placed one hand on her shoulder and another on Theo's back, to steady her and to support his neck.

"Briseis, can Theo have a drink first?" I coaxed. "Why don't we give him a drink and then we'll take him to see your cousins, yes?"

She looked puzzled for a moment, before smiling and nodding. In the quickest time possible I took our son from her, still screaming, sat her down and handed him back after slipping one side of her robe over her shoulder, careful to always keep one hand under his head. He suckled and silenced. A while later, when he had finished, I took him back and rested him in the crook of one arm; it never failed to astonish me that he was so tiny that he rested in the curve of my elbow. With the other hand I helped to pull Briseis up and pointed to the camp. "Troy is that way. Do you think you can get there?"

By the time we reached the tent our baby was sleeping deeply next to my chest, and she was exhausted. She collapsed onto the bed and didn't wake until the next day. But it was then, as I watched her eyes move beneath her lids, and felt Theo's chest move up and down, that I felt this intense responsibility for them both. Like I would go to Hades and back just to save them. But it didn't scare me, not one bit.

* * *

Over the next nights Briseis' sleep became less fitful, and Theo grew stronger. Nevertheless, I still felt a huge protectiveness for them both. Which is why I know, if I am to do one thing before I die, it will be to find them.

And get them out.


	11. Burning Blue

Chapter Eleven – Burning Blue

Troy is dying before my eyes.

Through my very own eyes I can see the city burning, and through my very own ears I can hear the screams of her children.

I was lying in my chamber, watching Theo fall asleep, thinking about my life since I left Troy. I couldn't sleep, and I didn't want to. I lost track of time.

Then, from somewhere far away and still too close, the sounds of shouting came. Then more, as well as screams, and the faint crackling of flames. I fastened Patroclus' shell necklace around my neck for no reason, it just felt right. I picked up Theo, careful not to wake him, and started off towards the palace gardens, where I knew I'd be able to see what was happening. And, by the Gods, I can. So I pray.

I pray for myself and Theo, who I'm holding as close to my chest as possible, and I pray for my cousins: Paris, Helen, Andromache, and for Troy itself. I try to take a deep breath, but the air is too smoky for deep breaths now. I'm so absorbed I don't even notice the footsteps behind me.

"Too late for prayer, priestess." A voice snarls. I try to stifle a cry as I'm pulled up roughly by the hair and turned round. Agamemnon continues, his voice heavy with contempt, "I almost lost this war because of your little romance."

I learnt three things from Achilles. First, that Agamemnon always keeps a dagger in his belt. Second, that it could be removed without him noticing by pushing it up from the bottom, so the leather didn't rub. I assumed that the leader of the Myrmidons had done it himself before, intending to use it, and probably more than once. And this third: what is morally right is hardly ever useful. I turn the weapon over in my hand.

But Agamemnon still thinks he's got me, and he hasn't noticed Theo. He's completely covered by a blanket; the King of Kings probably thinks the bundle I'm holding close to my bosom just contains my belongings, thank the Gods. Only they know what he would do to Achilles' son if he had the chance.

"You will be my slave in Mycenae. A Trojan priestess scrubbing my floors." He says, relishing every word, while he moves my face closer to his.

My grip on the dagger tightens.

"And at night…"

My hand shoots up and buries the knife in the soft spot where men are most vulnerable. I feel Agamemnon's blood on my fingers as he sinks to the ground. I hear a cry from the blanket as his guards grab both my arms; one pushing me to the floor and the other taking the bundle. The soldier looks inside. "Ah, Achilles' bastard." He smiles. "I'm sure he would understand that if a woman kills the king, she has to pay the price…"

Then time seems to play at half speed. The soldier pulls a sword out. I scream like I've never screamed. And out of nowhere, I see a head of golden hair, the flash of a sword as it slices through flesh. Achilles kills them both in an instant, and catches Theo before he falls. Then he comes towards me.

Even if it has only been twelve days since we last saw each other, it seems like moons, if not years. He looks the same; I don't why I expected any different but I did. For one fleeting second, he looks at me like he always did, then takes my hand and pulls me up. But as he does, I see a figure standing on a ledge behind him.

Paris.

And he has seen Achilles.

His eyes are narrowed, seeing not me or the baby, but only the man who killed his brother. And he needs revenge.

If time was playing at half speed, it has now stopped completely. Paris raises his bow and pulls back an arrow. He has his target right where he wants him.

"No!"

"Achilles' head jerks back as he gasps for breath. The arrow has hit the soft, tender area between his heel and ankle. His grip loosens on Theo and I catch him as he falls, then scream, "Paris!"

It is no longer my cousin and my lover now; it is Trojan versus Greek. A bloody battle that I am powerless to stop.

Achilles rises, starting towards Paris. The prince shoots and shoots again, hitting his mark every time. The soldier keeps going, pulling one arrow out and ignoring the rest. I am behind him, trying to calm Theo, hysterical, but if I could see his face I know, I just know I would see that hard, shut off look he had when we first met, the look that reappeared when Patroclus died.

The screams from the city grow louder.

"Stop, please!" Paris, don't!" I shout. But he is not listening. Any leverage I had as his cousin has gone – even if Helen didn't tell him who Theo's father was I'm sure he has worked it out by now – and this is the Greek who murdered his brother and dragged him by his heels across the plain. Justice must be done. Paris keeps firing.

Suddenly, Achilles stops, and in a second that feels like an age, he falls to the ground.

As I run to kneel beside him, Theo stops crying; he smiles and holds out an arm. It is heartbreaking and devastatingly bittersweet that all he knows is that he is seeing his father again. He doesn't realise the terrible price he has has had to pay just for saving us.

My hero brings his hand up to cup my face, and breathes, "It's alright." He's smiling slightly, as if he knew this was going to happen. "It's alright." He pulls me in slowly, picking up a section of my hair and breathing in its scent, like he did the very first time we met. When he leans back all I can do is look at him, taking in and remembering everything. He doesn't look… he doesn't look like he's dying. His hair is as golden as ever, his eyes are still sparkling. And I feel the same love I've felt every day for a year, without exception.

Achilles rests his thumb on my cheek. "You gave me peace, in a lifetime of war." He says. Then, placing a hand and a kiss on Theo's head, "And you gave me him, out gift from the Gods. He's grown." He returned his eyes to me and laughs weakly. "Love him, and tell him that his father loved him too. More than war, more than power. More than glory."

Just looking down into our child's beaming face is enough to send me over the edge and into tears. I feel them running down my face before I even realise I'm crying. Achilles kisses me, as if to try and stop the flow. That sweet, soft kiss that I have known for what feels like my whole life, the one I have dreamt of constantly since we parted. A goodbye kiss.

"Briseis, come." Paris calls from the ledge.

"Go." Achilles insists. I protest and shake my head. Theo has only just found his father again; he can not lose him now.

"You must. If only for our son. If only so he can live."

"No." I repeat.

"Troy is falling. Go."

I shake my head once again and lean into an embrace. If I can just be close to him, everything will be alright. My cheek is burning where it touches his.

I hear Paris' voice again. "We must go. I know a way out."

By now Achilles' eyes are filling with tears to, something I've never before seen them do. It's just further confirmation of what's happening. I can't bring myself to leave him.

"It's alright." He says again, his breathing ragged now. "Go."

"Briseis, come." Paris is directly behind me now.

"Go."

I take one last lingering look, swallow my fears and hold Theo tighter. I find Paris' hand. Go. And don't look back.

_It's alright._

Achilles will be remembered, for dying in the thick of battle, dying for the Greek cause. He will be made immortal in the tales that are told, the songs that are sung.

_It's alright._

Theo won't remember, of course, but I will, and I will teach him about the leader and hero he would have come to call his father. I will remember.

_It's alright._

Finally, my hero's found the glory he has always wanted.

I look around as we leave the city; flames licking at every stone, dead men scattered like dolls.

Still all I can see are my Achilles' eyes, burning bluer than the ocean, and brighter than the sun.


End file.
